Page 20 of See You Maybe
Hey, thanks for coming back to my room with me. Did we have sex? Was it good? Can I have a do-over?
Her brain began to spiral.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m an adult, and he didn’t murder me. Clearly a drunken evening gone awry. And, so what if it’s the first time I’ve ever had a one-night stand, and he just happens to be the sexiest man on the planet… And I don’t remember getting to touch him.
Gah! Those shoulders!
He is beautiful. Like someone plucked one of those Grecian statues out of a museum, dipped it in sex appeal, and then breathed life into it. Warm, vibrant, muscular… Oh shit, he’s laughing at me.
“I wish I had a camera,” he said. “You should see your expression.”
“I’m going to have anxiety nightmares about this moment until the day I die,” she muttered.
A cloud crossed his face. “Do you have a lot of nightmares?”
“What? No.”
What a weird question.
Silence stretched as the shirtless man in her bed lifted his arms and tucked his hands behind his head, impressive biceps flexing with the movement. She licked her lips. Am I drooling?
“Good morning,” Olivia belatedly said.
A sleepy smile crossed his face and…
Are you serious? Is that a dimple?
Her eyes, defying her perfectly mature thoughts, dipped to scan his impressively muscled upper torso and shoulders.
It was insult to injury. He was seriously the hottest man she’d ever seen, and she didn’t even remember sleeping with him.
A sigh slipped from her lips, and then her eyes widened in horror when his eyes lit with humor, and a smile stretched through his thick morning beard.
Olivia swung her legs over the side and fairly launched herself out of the bed. “Just… I need… I’m going to take a shower.”
Olivia shut the door harder than she intended, fairly certain she heard him chuckling. Swiftly pulling off his shirt, she flung it blindly back into the room, before closing the door again.
Is he naked under the blanket? Go find out, her body screamed, but sanity had finally reasserted itself.
Turning the shower on, Olivia took her time. Hot water sluiced over her, alternately making her feel cleansed of the pub yuck and absolutely exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she drank that much. If ever.
Stepping out of the shower, Olivia wrapped herself in a towel and struggled with what she should say. “It was a fun night. Sorry I don’t remember it.”
She’d taken stock of her body while she was bathing, but other than the new bruise on her hip and the lump on her head, she couldn’t tell anything was different.
I’d be able to tell, right? Or is that just something people say?
Olivia hadn’t been intimate with anyone in over a year. With her school and work schedule, she didn’t have time for relationships.
Shouldn’t I be sore or something?
An image of his enormous frame dominating her bed appeared in front of her.
I should definitely be sore.
More memories came back like her own personal slideshow of embarrassment: Throwing herself at him in the bar, him offering to take her home.
Did he try to leave?